


I never wanted to change

by Multifandom_damnation



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman and Robin (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Contemplation, Gen, Gift Work, I suppose, I think it's implied suicide but thats not what I wanted to do, I tried ok, Multi, Past Character Death, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 04:18:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12623024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Multifandom_damnation/pseuds/Multifandom_damnation
Summary: "I’ve never wanted to change, but to better suit the people around me- I’ve had to.It seems cruel. You spend so much of your life trying to please people, and then it’s all turned around and you end up changing who you are to please others.My hands, the same, but much different.My words? Sometimes, I don’t even know if I’m the one saying them. They seem so odd to me, like ill-fitting teeth.I don’t know how to fix it, really. People tell me to fight, but I never wanted that. I just wanted to be left alone.That’s all I still want."





	I never wanted to change

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a gift to @identityconstellations on tumblr, who was feeling a little down and existential, so I thought I would write this to cheer her up. If Tim turned out suicidal, that was not the intention, so I apologise. I love you Stell x. I used her words from a conversation we had and tried to incorporate it. This is also the first time I’ve ever written a 1st-person perspective fic, and I have to say that I’m actually really proud. I know it’s shit, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. (Thanks to @zinziinziiin and @the-casual-cheesecake for attempting to edit this monstrosity. I know I fucked it up and ruined Tim, but I hope I fixed it somewhat)

In my life, I’ve found that you have to unlearn a lot.

I never expected my life to change so much. I’m 17 and already, I’ve gone through changes that other boys my age could only marvel at.

I’ve never wanted to change, but to better suit the people around me- I’ve had to.

It seems cruel. You spend so much of your life trying to please people, and then it’s all turned around and you end up changing who you are to please others.

My hands, the same, but much different.

My words? Sometimes, I don’t even know if I’m the one saying them. They seem so odd to me, like ill-fitting teeth.

I don’t know how to fix it, really. People tell me to fight, but I never wanted that. I just wanted to be left alone.

That’s all I still want.

I never wanted to fight, not for me, not for the city, not for anyone. I just wanted to be a normal kid, going to school, cheating on tests, pranking teachers with whoopee cushions and stink bombs, changing the speakers to play “The Macarena” for the recess bells. Competing in gymnastics tournaments, going ice skating at Christmas, studying for finals, going to the circus and watching the jugglers making balls fall in different patterns and acrobats fly across the stadium with every daring leap.

I think my life started to change when Dick’s parents fell those agonising feet to the hard circus floor and collapsed in a silent and unmoving pile of blood and tears and broken bones-

I could never remember which sound was worse- the crunch of their bodies as they collided with the woodwork or Dick’s bawling pleas for them to wake up.

I look down over the city, my city, and I realise that I’ve changed with it. That fast food place had never been there. Neither had that office building.  And Wayne Enterprises had never been so large or so brightly lit.

The idea that we are all meant for “something greater” is foolish. Childish, even. The card’s we are dealt are the cards we must play. Thinking you can change your hand is just wishful thinking. I can do anything I want with my metaphorical cards, except change them.

But just because I ‘ _can_ ’ doesn’t mean I ‘ _should_ ’.

I leap off the building I was perched on, like a bird, like a bat, and fell the 20 meters into open air so I can open my wings and glide through the streets from far above. I’m on patrol and even though deep thinking and reminiscing is encouraged in our little family, I have work to do.

Work like protecting my city. The city I only ever wanted to see from the streets and pathways with my feet firmly rooted to the ground. Only wanted to watch the heroes beat up criminals and stop crime. Only wanted to understand why they did what they did within the safety of my room and four walls.

But I found out too much, got in too deep and I had to change everything about myself in order to survive.

An alarm goes off and I land, searching for the disturbance. The Gotham city bank has its windows smashed and lights flashing. My eyepiece detects 12 armoured men, 8 armed hostiles, 4 unarmed and shovelling stacks of money into duffle bags to be loaded onto a cart then shoved in the back of a van.

An average bank robbery then. Nothing interesting.

I stand on the edge of the roof, five seconds away from dropping off and gliding to the bank to smash through a window and land on the ground.

Gunfire explodes through the air, the scent of gunpowder strong, even from here.

A flaming arrow flies through a window and screams could be heard as it burst inside. Heat and whistles on my right and a flaming woman is carrying a rowdy redhead by his shoulders. He’s shooting arrows into the building. Roy and Kori

A whistle on my left and Red Hood lands a few feet from me. “We got this covered” Came through my com and a salute is the only recognition I get as Jason jumps off the building to follow Arsenal and Starfire, guns already firing.

I can’t be bothered telling him to go in non-lethal.

I wonder when that changed?

I shrug it off, instead spinning on my heel and talking off in the other direction.

Almost double checking to make sure I the Outlaws are alright, I soar through the musky Gotham air to land on a perch far enough away that the sounds of gunshots and screaming were just a distant memory. I can’t be bothered checking to see if they can handle it. I never have. I wonder now if that’s weird. Shouldn’t I be concerned for my brother and his merry band of renegades?

No. Jason has never been the type to need people to worry about him. He would never appreciate it. He would much rather solve his problems with bullet casings and fists, only worrying about the damage done to his bloodied knuckles after the fact.

I’m on a fire escape, perched on the ladders top rung of unit 486. The sound of car alarms and sirens echo far below me, the gunshots from Jason’s position disappearing on the wind.

I can hardly see the roads below me. I wonder what it would like to fall, to leap off the building and plummet to a deep and endless slumber before I pull up at the last minute to wind whistling in my ears, leaves and grime flying up to meet me as I land safely on the dirty streets of Gotham.

Although, I have a feeling that if I were to jump, I would hear nothing but the ring of a circus song like the dreaded toll of church bells, the shocked gasping of the audience like a tidal wave of despair and the screams of my brother like an oncoming storm as he finds me in a pool of my own blood and broken bones and begs me to wake up.

I wonder how Dick can fly the way he does when everyone he loves is always falling.

I have a feeling he doesn’t do it very well.

There is always a blank hesitation behind his confident eyes when he sees one of us leap off a building too merrily, before his eyes sparkle as though the darkness had never been there in the first place when he assuredly follows us down to the rapidly approaching pavement with a bright smile plastered on his face like a galaxy of stars.

A scream echoes from an alleyway, and I let go of the ladder to fly towards it. A flash of yellow and green soars past me before I could, and I watch as the last flecks of Damian’s costume disappear behind the walls of the alley. I hear the quick hiss of blades and the glinting of swords in the darkness.

I used to worry that Damian would tarnish the name of Robin, like reddening rust ghosting over diligently polished steel. But now I know that he can use whatever he wants because Robin needed to change.

For better or for worse, I could never decide.

The screaming had stopped, replaced with hushed thank you’s and the zing of Damian’s grapple. I didn’t bother looking, didn’t bother listening for the police sirens of police cars when the GCPD finally come down. It was always funny to watch them rage over how the bat-brats had taken another catch, but I wasn’t in the mood tonight.

I just wanted this night to be over so I could fall into the dark embrace of my bed and stop thinking.

That could mean one of two things, I realise now.

It could mean falling into the warm folds of my covers, the blissful softness that my pillows allow and the peaceful silence that is an empty Wayne Manor in the much too early hours of the morning. It could mean a night of heavenly darkness and the forgotten moments between falling asleep and waking up, or the cosy afterglow of a successful night of patrol that leads to comforting dreams full of soft colours and cloud jumping like a blessing from Hypnos.

Or it could mean the agonizing screaming as my own mortality rushes up to meet me, the darkness enveloping me like a suffocating and unescapable gas that takes my breath away and turns the world chrome. It could mean falling into sleeps warm embrace, only to have my doom reach me and to never wake up again, or to have everything that makes me who I am ripped away like paper in a shredder until I literally  _do_  stop thinking and my body dissolves into the ether.

The concrete floor looks in inviting, like a spring-loaded pad for a gymnastics trick.

Looking around, I realise that everything I can see is… momentary? The buildings, the statues, the cars, the roads, the homes, the families- all temporary.

Nothing ever seems to stay the same. Thinks are always changing. Always decaying.

Everything is temporary.

My life is temporary.

I’m temporary.

I’m flying before I know it, sailing through the dark skies. Maybe I’ll see Bruce on patrol. Maybe Alfred convinced him to stay in. Maybe Dick took on the cowl and became the Dark Knight for the midnight hours.

No, I see his bright blues flipping around and showing off to the stars. I can help but laugh as I hear his whoops of joy as he relishes the freedom he has when he is out here, in the darkness, with nobody but the cosmos and the smiling eyes of the dead watching him from their place in the sky.

I touch down on a construction site to watch him, one that hadn’t seen work in months due to Gotham’s poor weather and unsanitary conditions.

It’s Gotham. What else do you expect?

I watch Dick twist and turn until he summersaults high into the air and falls down over the edge of a roof, the manic giggling of an over-excitable child echoing through the street. At least he enjoys these late nights. At least he’s ok.

My com beeps, and a message quietly comes through. It’s Bruce.

“Quiet night tonight.” Same tired, gravelly voice. At least  _that_  hasn’t changed. “Come back in half an hour and maybe you can get an extra hours sleep tonight.”

“Affirmative.”

“Okie Dokie!”

“Of course, Father.”

“We clocked out ages ago. Night B.”

“I’m just doing some late night jumps. I’ll be home soon. Don’t wait up for me.”

“Yes, sir. Steph, who say ‘okie dokie’ ever?”

“I do, Cass! It’s funny. Make fun of Harper! Who the hell says ‘affirmative”?

“Shut it blondie, a superior came into work today and I had to say that about 50 times. I’m stuck in the mode.”

“Sure Harpo, if that’s what you’re telling people.”

“I swear to god Steph don’t make me zap you- “

“Girls! That’s enough.”

The same routine. Out of all the things in my life that are changing, I hope this isn’t one of them. I hope this is the one, everlasting constant.

I don’t need to reply. They know I’m here, know that I’m too tired to care and too tired to speak. I can only think. Sometimes, I feel like my own thoughts are my own undoing.

My “Kryptonite” as Kon would say. He would laugh. I’d just roll my eyes and silently agree.

My life is an hourglass. Constantly turning and turning, grains falling towards the end, only to be swept up and turned around to start again in a continuous pattern of pain and fear and suffering as my grains of sand reached the very last turn.

It is a blinking star. In one cosmic moment, I will be blown out like a candle wick by the universe and have everything end around me like the snuffing of a flame as the world ends to a gruesome and non-existent chalk.

It is an ocean. Waves come in to rip away any fleeting moment that might bring any sort of light, any happiness and just drags it back out to drown in the murky depths and transform into a nightmare of despair and overpowering fear.

It is a storm. Clouds draw me in with the enticing of sweet melodies and sunshine, warping into a dark and painful scream as I try to claw my way through the sickly sweet explosions of both distress and melancholy as the eye swallows me whole.

My life is the blink of an eye.

Soon, it will be 2050 and I’ll still be the same person and I don’t know if I’ll be happy then or if I’ll just be the same as I always have been.

Full of highs and lows.

But my life isn’t  _all_  bad.

Of course, it’s mostly full of lows, lows so deep that sometimes I can never see myself crawling out. But where the lows are bleak and deadly, there are always highs that float me back towards the light.

My life is a fireplace. Flames that lick and burn, I am the warm and deadly encounter when you get too close, comforting and secure in the way I glow. I am the heat that radiates off of wooden logs and crackles in your ears like a softly spoken melody.

It is a cup of coffee. An exponentially warm porcelain that you hold in your hand and keeps you company on cold nights alone in the dark or mornings where your only company is the rising sun. I am the steam that rises up to fog your glasses, obscuring your sight of what you don’t want to see.

It is a stream. A babbling brook, flowing in a constant and reassuring pattern from the beginning to the end, gentle and soft in the roaring of the soft lapping waves as you dip your feet into the water and the cool and calming nature runs between your toes.

It is a book. Different with every page you turn, yet more and more of the same. I am the gasping amazement and the soft tears that blur the words as you turn faster and faster to get to the end and find out why you picked up the book in the first place.

I’m tired, but I don’t care. I want to stay with my city the little while longer.

My city, more earth than air. Soil and trees reaching up to the clouds and snow peaked mountains and mist in your lungs. It’s  _tangible_.

All my life, I had thought that when I die, I will  _go somewhere_  like this. Somewhere tangible. But what if there is no afterlife? What if I  _don’t_  go anywhere? What if I just… stop?

I try not to think like that, but sometimes doubt creeps up on me.

My com beeps, and I don’t even need to answer to know it’s Dick. “Hey Timmy,” he yawned, fondness dripping through his voice like warm honey, “Why don’t you come home now?”

“Give me 5.”

“Sure. I’ll leave your window open. See you when you get home Tim.”

The city expanded out before me, and I free fell off the scaffolding until I am at a distance to the floor so I can open my wings, wind whipping through my hair and whistling through my ears like the Pied Piper.

The streets are empty. Shutters are closed and lights are off in homes. A baby cries every now and again, and a parent’s grumble is the only reply as they get out of their warm and cosy bed to tend to their bundle of joy.

These people, the ones behind the closed shutters and darkened rooms are the ones I fight for. The reason I stick around and fight.

Death has never been something I have wanted, but it is all around me. It follows me like an inky mist that will one-day swallow me whole and reunite me with those I have lost. Even though death is such a common thing, I still want to save others from that fate.

I still want to fight for my right to live. I still want to fight for the life I deserve. I still want to fight for my family, for the ones I love.

I still want to fight to keep my head above the water.

It's been a slow night for me. I think I might head home.

The lights of the Manor were on when I get there, illuminating the house like a beacon. A beacon of hope in the dark night. How ironic.

Sliding in through my bedroom window, I could smell Alfred’s hot chocolate from the kitchen.

If I didn’t have any reason for me to exist before, there is no way I’m missing out of a cup of Alfie’s hot chocolate.

I can hear Dick laughing, the keys on the piano playing a soft melody through the marbled foyers. The chandelier is working again, light spilling in through the gap beneath my door. Harper must have fixed it. Clapping and feet stomping on the floor and Damian’s strangled but laughed protests give way that the girls are trying to get Damian to dance. Fat chance.

A tentative knock on my door and some shuffling bring me out of my reverie. “Hey Tim, you in there?” It’s Cullen. Harper must have brought him on her way home. “I think I heard you come in. If you are, I was just asking if you wanted to come down and join us? Alfred is making hot chocolate and Dick convinced Bruce to play the piano. It’s really fun.” A pause “If you’re not there, I suppose I’m just talking to myself, huh?” Silence and retreating footsteps. He’s a good kid.

I’d better go and join them.

Life is only a temporary thing in the great span of the universe. Once the Grim Reaper comes to welcome me, I will greet death as the old friend that it is. But until then, the world still needs a little bit more Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.

And I will still be here to give the world what it needs. I never wanted to change. But after a night of reflection?

I’m glad I have.

Because I’m nothing if not a Bat. And Bats?

Bats never give up


End file.
